Misty
by LunaPadma
Summary: Samantha Jones was a completely, one-hundred percent average mortal. That is, until some gunhappy sixteen-year-old stole her cell phone. Now, she's entangled in a world of mythology that she can't even see. She did not sign up for this.
1. Chapter 1

When I open my eyes, I see two teenagers, about my age, shooting at each other. I scream.

I mean, what else do you do in that situation?

Well, one turns and looks at me oddly and the other one shoots at him. It clips him in the temple and he falls to the ground.

I scream again. "You just shot someone!" Looking back, I would say I have this really unfortunate habit of stating the obvious.

The guy who is currently not lying on the sidewalk unconscious looks at me strangely. Then he seems to have an epiphany and says, "Well, technically, the bullet only clipped him in the temple and, really, he's just unconscious."

"You just shot someone!" I repeat.

"I think you've already said that." he says. He's looking at me strangely, like I'm overdue for a straitjacket and a rubber room.

"I'm calling the cops!" I say, rummaging through my purse for my cell phone. It's not there. "Where's my cell phone?" I mutter. You know how when you're rummaging through your purse trying to find something, and you'll say that, right? Well, apparently the crazy boy thought I was talking to him.

"I kind of borrowed it…"

"You stole my cell phone!"

"I didn't steal it! I was going to give it back."

"You stole my cell phone!"

"Do you repeat yourself often?" He's giving me that 'you're overdue for a rubber room and a straitjacket' look again.

"Give me my cell phone so I can call the cops!" I say angrily. Now, there's a phrase you don't say much. Unless I was planning on pursuing a career as an innocent bystander-hostage, I had thought that those words would've never exited my mouth.

"You know," he says, all carefree, like I'm not about to brain him with my purse, a dog biscuit, and a stiletto heel. "I'm not stupid."

Then he turns on his heel and runs.

And because I happen to have a near-reliance on my cell phone, I chase after him.

We run by a lot of what looks like gang fights, although at one point I do see a cute blonde boy pull out a switchblade and knife a poodle.

He stops in front of a boy who looks strikingly like him, who's fighting a girl who looks like she's on steroids. The girl on steroids shoots at him, and the guy ducks. He fires back and she hits the ground, bleeding.

Frankly, I was horrified. "What is _wrong_ with you people?" I yell.

The one who just shot Steroid-girl looks at the other guy. "What's she doing here?" he asks.

"She wants her cell phone back."

"Wh-oh. Didn't Percy say to give them back?"

"Travis, she was about to call the cops on me!"

"Dude, the entire city is in an uproar. It's not likely that they'll actually come to arrest you."

"Well, it might be sped up if she told them that I had shot someone."

"Dude, you _shot_-oooh. Well' how was I supposed to know that she was-"

"Of course she is! They aren't that common, you know!"

"You are aware that I'm still here, right?"

They apparently were not aware of that little fact. "Why are you still here?" 'Travis' asked.

"I'm not leaving without my cell phone." I say, which may or may not be a total lie. It all depends whether or not they're going to pull the guns out on me.

"Connor, just give her the cell phone."

"If she calls the cops, I will tell Chiron it was all your fault."

"C'mon, it's not like it'll be the first time."

"Fine." He pulls out my (not that it really matters, but for posterity) turquoise Chocolate, and throws it at me and I catch it. "Don't call the cops, or else."

I turn on my heels and start to walk back the way I came. Then I turned around. "Connor?"

He trips and nearly falls into an open dumpster. "What?"

"Is there any particular reason as to why most of New York happened to fall asleep at the same time? Did someone drug the water supply?"

Connor looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Why would I know?"

"Because clearly it didn't affect you."

"Maybe. I don't know." Then he left.

And a moment later, I turn around and leave, too.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know why I'm so hung up on Connor. Yes, it was quite obvious that he was hiding something, but so what?

Why did it matter, anyway?

Finally, I pull out my phone and, for the millionth time, look at the number that he'd dialed using my phone.

Then, before I chicken out, I hit redial.

A girl answers. "Um…hello?"

"Hi. Who is this?"

"Who are you?"

"My name is Samantha Jones. I'm calling because someone named Connor stole my cell phone before shooting someone, and I want answers."

"What?"

"When I woke up on the streets of New York," I just realized how much that sounds like a Katy Perry song. "My cell phone was gone. And, in front of me, there was a gunfight going on. Turns out the winner had my cell phone, so I chased him into an alley and some guy named Travis was there and he shot some girl on steroids and then they got into an argument and then they gave me back my phone."

"I'm lost." the girl on the other end of the phone said.

"Look, can I explain this in person? I'll meet you at the Starbucks on Broadway at eleven."

"Um…okay. Bye." She hung up.

Only then did I realize that I'm going to meet a girl I've never met, and I only talked to because of a gunhappy sixteen-year-old.

I am going to die.

At ten to eleven, I grab my purse, tell my parents that I'm going out to meet a friend, and head over to the Starbucks on Broadway. And once I get in there, I just realized how pointless this whole thing was.

The place is _packed_. I mean, how many people can want coffee at eleven in the morning?

So I get in line while looking around, because since I'm here, I might as well get some coffee. And then I see four places up in the line, at the counter, is Connor.

You have got to be kidding me. He pays for two coffees and goes to sit with a pretty blonde girl.

I walk over to their table and sit down in the empty seat. The blonde looks up. "Samantha Jones?"

"Yes."

She sticks out a hand and I shake it. "Annnabeth Chase."

"Hi."

"So you say that you saw Connor here," she waved her hand at Connor. "Shoot someone."

"Yes."

"But what if you didn't?"

"What? I know what I saw."

"You know what you think you saw."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Annabeth, maybe we shouldn't-"

"Relax, Connor, Chiron said I could."

"Really?"

"Does everyone forget that I'm still here?" I ask.

Connor falls out of his seat. "Stop doing that!" he says angrily.

"Doing what? Using my Jedi mind-powers to cause you to forget that I'm here, then surprise you?"

"Can we get back to the topic, people?" Annabeth wasn't in the best of moods.

"Sorry. Continue," I say.

"What do you know about Greek mythology?"

Actually, I went through a phase in fifth grade where that was all I'd read. So, quite a bit, actually. "A lot, I guess. Why?"

"What would you say if the gods were real?"

"Am I on Punk'd?"

"No, you are not on Punk'd. It's true."

I start to laugh hysterically. "Very funny!" I say in between laughs.

Neither Annabeth nor Connor joined in laughing. In fact, they looked as if there was nothing funny about the situation.

I abruptly stop laughing. "You're serious, aren't you?" They nod. "So, like, what are you?"

"We're half-bloods. Demigods, technically. We're the children of a mortal and a Greek god or goddess."

I blink. "Prove it," I say, with much more confidence than I felt.

Annabeth pulled out a switchblade and plunged it into my hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Before I can even scream, Connor's standing behind me, with his hand pressed over his mouth. I lick his hand, which always works when my friend, Gabby, does that, but nothing happens. So I bite his hand, which works when Gabby wears gloves, and again, nothing happens. I bite again, harder, and I taste blood. Connor yelps, but doesn't move his hand.

Annabeth continues talking, like she didn't just stab my hand. "You see, this is a celestial bronze knife. It doesn't hurt you, because you're mortal. But if I stabbed Connor, he would bleed, because he's a half-blood. A demigod." She pulls the knife out of my hand, and, lo and behold, my hand is fine. So maybe she is telling the truth.

Connor moves away from me, holding his hand gingerly. I see that it's still bleeding a little. Serves him right. "She _bit_ me, Annabeth!" he whines.

"Was that necessary?" I ask. "Stabbing my hand with your switchblade?"

"You told me to prove it to you. And it's not a switchblade."

"Wait…if your switchblade isn't a switchblade, what is it?"

Annabeth smiles. "It's a dagger. The reason it looks like a switchblade is because of the Mist."

I nod, like I actually follow her warped conversation. "Like the reason San Francisco can host a marathon in the summer."

Annabeth looks at me oddly. "You've been to San Francisco?" she asks, almost accusingly.

"Yeah, my cousin lives there. Does it…matter?"

"No, of course not," Annabeth says quickly. "And no, not the reason San Francisco can host a marathon in the summer."

"Then what?"

"The Mist blocks your view of the things in my world, the mythological world. Ergo, you saw a switchblade where you should have seen a dagger and a gun where you should have seen a sword."

Okay, so maybe Connor didn't just shoot someone. That is, if Annabeth is telling the truth and isn't insane.

"Assuming you are telling the truth, and you didn't just escape from the mental institution, I have a question. If you are the child of a human and a Greek god or goddess, who're your parents?"

"My mother is Athena, goddess of wisdom." Annabeth says, drinking her coffee. "And Connor and Travis are sons of Hermes."

Athena. This is the girl who just stabbed my hand. And, okay, it didn't hurt, but still. What did that prove? That she has an Inviso-knife? At least now I know why Connor stole my cell phone, though.

"Hold the phone," I say. I just realized something.

Connor looks at me guiltily. In his hands, I see my poor Chocolate. I glare at him. "Why did you take my cell phone _again_?" I ask angrily.

"I'm a klepto," he says, shrugging. He slides my phone back to me, and I put it back in my pocket.

"Anyway, as I was _saying_, if the gods and junk are real, were, like, the monsters? And, more importantly, why aren't you in Greece, you know, with the _gods_."

"Actually, the gods move with Western Civilization, and right now, the heart of Western Civilization is in America. And the monsters are real. They don't die."

"Um…yes they do. What, did Theseus just sit the bull down and give it a nice talking-to?"

"No, the monsters can be killed, but they'll just reform from Chaos."

"That is very inconvenient," I say. "Okay, I have to go. I really enjoyed this nice dose of crazy, but I really do need to get back home. Bye."

"You don't think we're telling the truth," Annabeth says, amused.

"Of course not. I'm not stupid. I never have been. I think I can recognize a lie from far away. Now, thank you for wasting my time. I'll not be seeing you around."

At that moment, a girl walks through the doors. She's rather pretty, a redhead, and she is wearing a cheerleading outfit. I mean, I get that not everyone likes gingers and cheerleaders, but that doesn't explain why Annabeth and Connor are freaking out.

"Oh, Zeus," Annabeth breathed. "Go, Connor, distract her!"

Connor nodded and pulled out his gun-no, wait, apparently it's a sword. Annabeth pulls a Yankees hat (which my cousin, Louis, would freak about. He's from Boston) and puts it on, and suddenly she's not there anymore.

Next time, I'm skipping the coffee date. This has blown up, when all I really wanted was some insane conspiracy theory about the drugs in the water.

But I really don't get the cheerleading prejudice.

Annabeth reappears, before screaming, "No use, Connor! She's too strong! Run!"

No, instead of running, first Connor (the imbecile) must push his way _back_ through the large (screaming) crowd, grabs my arm, hauls me through the crowd, and escapes.

And, of course, while I'm being kidnapped by insane people running from (what is apparently) an ex-girlfriend, I can't even scream. Because my body clearly hates me.

We run down a random street and then Annabeth stops. She pulls out a really shiny penny and throws it on the ground while saying something in a really weird language.

And then a taxi pulls up. A really, really weird looking taxi I don't want to get in.

"Okay," Annabeth says. "Get in the taxi."

Connor gets in. I stand outside. "I am not getting in that taxi," I say.

Annabeth rolls her eyes. "Get in the taxi."

"I am not going to get in that taxi. Besides, why should I? I'll be fine. They'll just assume you're trying to kidnap me, which, by the way, you are."

So, Annabeth shoves me bodily into the taxi. Before I can twist myself around and get myself out of the taxi-of-doom, Annabeth slides in next to me, slams the door shut, yells, "CAMP HALF-BLOOD!", and the driver steps on it.

No, sorry. Drivers. Although, for the life of me, I don't understand why anyone would want to hitch a ride with three legally blind old ladies who share one pair of glasses and a pair of dentures, but maybe it's a Greek thing.

I look around for some sort of weapon, but right now all I have is two Silly Bandz (a unicorn and a dollar sign. My castle broke), a hairtie, and three quarters, two nickels, and a dime. Oh, and a half-empty thing of Kleenex.

I'm doomed.

Look, I really don't want to go into the car trip, but let's just say that there was much snatching of the dentures and the glasses, we nearly died about 23 times (if you don't include the time we ran into the hot-dog stand) and Connor's cappuccino is now splattering the streets of New York.

So, finally, we get out of the taxi-of-doom and stop at a hill. Now, as hills go, it wasn't the most impressive hill in the world, if you ignore the HOLYFLIPPINGGIGANTOID pine tree on top.

Anyways, Connor runs up the hill and down the other side, screaming something about food and home and designer clothing and lava-spewing rock walls (here, I think he was high. LSD or something).

Yeah. Anyways, I walked next to Annabeth, making awkward small talk until we're about halfway up the hill, where Annabeth continues on and pets a Rottweiler wrapped around the tree, and I find that I can't go any farther.

"I can't move," I say. Again with that whole 'stating-the-obvious' thing.

Annabeth looks confused for a moment, before her face clears. "I, Annabeth Chase, let Samantha Jones into camp."

And suddenly, I can move farther. Of course, since I was struggling against the barrier, I end falling up the hill, before I pick myself up and walk myself the rest of the way up the hill.

And, of course, since it's me, when I pass the supposed Rottweiler, it turns out it's a dragon. I scream.

Connor's head pops up from behind the hill. "I thought I heard the dulcet tones of our _lovely_ captive."

"Shut up and explain to me what happened to the Rottweiler," I say angrily.

"Oh, no. You see, that Mist thing, remember that? Well, it made Peleus, the dragon, look like a Rottweiler. And my gun?" He pulls out a long, shiny sword. "It's a sword."

"I got that. I aced 'Deadly Weaponry' at my old school," I say sarcastically.

"Your school taught you deadly weaponry? I wanna go there!" Connor exclaimed.

"Connor, she was being sarcastic. No school actually teaches deadly weaponry," Annabeth said.

Connor pouted. I snickered. Then I realized something:

"I need to call my mom."

"Why?" Connor stared at me.

"So she doesn't think I've been _kidnapped_," I say, hitting 3 on my phone.

"Hey, mom," I say.

"Hi, honey. What's up?"

"Nothing much. I'm gonna stay over at Gabby's tonight, that okay?"

"Sure." See, I've been staying over at Gabby's since I was, like, five. My mom knows Mrs. Overstrand so well, it's not even funny. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine. See you tomorrow. Bye."

"Bye, Samantha."

So, that's taken care of. I hang up and enter the camp.

And right away, I see a girl climbing a rock wall, with lava pouring down the sides. They were also clashing together. Maybe Connor wasn't high…

Oh, wait. This is the guy who drugged the entire population of New York. He's high.


End file.
